


Celestial

by StanfouQueen



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Gen, Sad, Seriously tons of angst, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-09
Updated: 2012-05-09
Packaged: 2017-11-05 01:42:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/401064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StanfouQueen/pseuds/StanfouQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another pre-ep. This one has character death, so tread carefully.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Celestial

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I don't like this one all that much. I think it's cliche, OOC, and over the top with angst. But, I also kind of like it anyway. So... Just keep reading if you like a mountain of angst and backbutton otherwise? ;)

Gazing into the distance, House feels number than a bottle of Vicodin ever could make him feel.

His only friend is going to die. Whether in a few weeks or in a few years, at some point the thyoma will spread and destroy Wilson's body from the inside out.

He can feel the loss already; it feels like Wilson's a ghost.

It hurts. It feels like the center of the universe has been sucked away, leaving everything falling out of control.

Without Wilson… Without Wilson, that's exactly what his universe will be. The instant Wilson's heart stops, the stars in his universe will turn to antimatter and suck everything away.

The irony is too predictable. There have been close calls before- Foreman almost dying of one of their "Zebra diseases"- but nothing like this.

Wilson is the only thing in his life he cares about. He's ruined everything else, driven everyone else away. He never was one to care about people much anyway, but the only ones he did care about, he managed to make them hate him. He could be as toxic as snake venom.

He'd said it so many times. Without Wilson, he was alone. It was why he couldn't watch when Wilson had donated part of his liver: if worse came to worse, he wouldn't be able to handle it.

Gregory House could handle anything, short of a world without Wilson.

The Vicodin addiction, rehab. The infarction. Relationships starting and ending. Prison. Zebra after zebra. Vogler. Tritter.

His breath trembles. He had come so close to losing Wilson before, but they had always bounced back. But now that wasn't going to happen. No fairy tale ending. Just the same thing that awaited everyone else on the planet: a cold grave deep underground and rotting flesh, and a devastated circle of friends and family.

Rule one was always "everybody lies". Rule two was always up in the air, but he knows now. "Everything happens for no reason."

Because if there was a reason to things, he'd die before Wilson. That was how it was supposed to be. His Vicodin usage was supposed to shut his liver down, and he'd die waiting for a transplant, Wilson at his side, being a mushy idiot as always.

Now it looks like he's going to have to be the mushy idiot. His universe is upside down, all turned to antimatter at once.

The days pass in a blur. Time fades. (Entropy increases. There's no way to reverse universal decay.)

House gets used to his leg being in agony, more of his Vicodin going to Wilson than to him. Wilson takes each pill like a Catholic might take Eucharist, with thanks and solemnity.

Wilson sleeps most of the day and night, claiming that as his "selfishness", which is sort of true. There will be plenty of time for that soon enough, and Wilson's wasting the time he has when he could be relishing the minutes left. Not that House says it. He isn't sure why he holds the callous words in, since he never had much of a problem rubbing salt in the wounds of dying men, but… well, it's Wilson. House has always treated him differently than anyone else.

He isn't even sure what Wilson is to him anymore. More than a friend, not quite a lover. Not a brother; anything relating to family hurts them both. A crutch? That fits, but still isn't enough.

(Two stars, blurred together beyond hope of separation.)

Wilson's pain gets worse and worse, to the point that Wilson's moans haunt his nightmares. House isn't used to dealing with this. His patients either die quickly, get better, or die in someone else's care. He isn't used to seeing a slow and agonizing death.

The headaches are bad enough, and then there's the bone pain, the wrenching stomach pain like his stomach is exploding. The pain-induced delirium. Several times, House almost wishes Wilson was dead just so the pain would be gone.

But House is selfish too, and his selfish act is wanting Wilson to stay, to give more. He doesn't have much left to give, but House doesn't care, he just wants.

That's what their relationship has always been, give and take. Wilson gives, he takes. That's changed a bit ever since _that day_ , but not enough. There's a sort of inertia to their relationship; things don't change unless they're forced.

A few more weeks go by. Death hangs over the apartment like a cloud, like a bomb with the timer counting down. Anyone nearby can feel the impending death (supernova) in the air. It's static, yet morose.

Wilson is almost never lucid anymore. When he is aware, he begs for death. It tugs at House's heart, and he wants to give Wilson the mercy he deserves, but he can't. He can't let his universe shatter.

(But scientists have said for years that the Big Bang has a catch, a Big Crunch that will happen trillions of years in the future. Out of that, a new Big Bang may start, or it may truly be the end.)

House just doesn't know anymore. Nothing makes sense. His mind is tripping over itself.

He startles as he hears Wilson's voice. "No, I t-told you, no, get off…"

Wilson's hallucinating. Again. House cringes sympathetically.

It wasn't enough just for Wilson to die of cancer. It had to go all-out, bringing on the near psychosis that advanced cancer patients were prone to.

Wilson just isn't Wilson anymore. The real Wilson had died at some point between the cancer tipping the battle in its favor and his body being hopelessly overrun. The form in front of him is a ghost, a shell.

Yet House still holds on, even though Wilson made him promise not to let him die slow and horrible. Wilson still has more to give, maybe.

But it proves to be a moot point within a few hours. It's sudden and inglorious.

Wilson goes from normal sleep to a coma. And within an hour, he just stops breathing. The conclusion is quicker than the build-up, as always.

And it feels just like House thought it would. His universe is ruined, light is dark, black holes have engulfed everything. The sun goes supernova and then simply becomes nothing.

He's lost, stunned, crushed.

Tears stream down his face. What now?

(No one knows what will happen when entropy reaches its maximum.)

He sinks to the ground, head bowed.

With the center of his universe gone, everything else will collapse, sooner or later.

He'd told Wilson that without him, he was alone.

He lied.

Without Wilson, he's nothing.


End file.
